


A Year's Difference

by jenovasilver



Category: Sherlock (BBC), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: After the Fall, Because it's hot!, Drabble!, Dubious Consent, M/M, Moffat is toying with my emotions!, Quotes taken out of context, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Sibling Incest, Smutlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 22:47:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenovasilver/pseuds/jenovasilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically Leezzee told me what Moffat said about Mycroft returning in S3 of Sherlock.-</p>
<p>"Yes, there’s an upcoming shower scene. Mark’s going to the gym already. Other than that, yes, we love Mycroft. Became a much bigger, more important than we expected, especially in Scandal. Somehow - for me, anyway - he’s the key to Sherlock. Imagining that past, those boys, that home….”</p>
<p>And you know what, that was all that was needed. Cheers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Year's Difference

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jeiidaan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeiidaan/gifts).



> This was written for you babe....excuse the errors and enjoy the incest.

+

 

When it happened, it hit him like a ton of bricks, Sherlock was flung against the wall of Mycroft's wide walk in shower. Glass panes frosted with polished silver fixings that were completely ignored, Sherlock was barely able to process what was happening to him. He knew that seeing his brother after a year since his 'death' that it wasn't going to be a happy occasion, no tender embraces, no intrigued inquires about his whereabouts. Just heated rage, long simmered to the point of boiling over and over Sherlock's body it went.

Mycroft turned on the hot water and tore off his expensive suit jacket, the look in his eyes was hunger but anger at once...Mycroft was always cold, distant, if he did approach it was in a impenetrable wall of frozen fear to anyone that met him. He wasn't a tyrant, at least he wasn't back then.

But alot can change in a year. Sherlock knew that well and now he's going to feel it too.

Sure Sherlock could try to reason but what was the point? This wasn't the same man...he was yanked up by Mycroft's hand that he was overcome. Sherlock was actually terrified of his brother and at the same time, _so turned on_.

When he tried to touch Mycroft's face, his hand was smacked away, when he tried to push away, he was pulled back. He felt the tense muscle underneath the soaked designer shirt, the black ink of his hair stuck over his eyes as the crushing kiss nearly sending him to his knees in defeat.

Sherlock saw his clothes torn away but was helpless to stop it, he felt the heavy grip of Mycroft on his waist when his trousers were smacked against the glass. His frail worn body lifted like it was paralyzed by all the emotions running wild inside him, he was going to come and he didn't want to. He wanted to scream but nothing came out.

 

_He wanted his brother to stop, to listen to him, to reason to him._

 

Mycroft was _**done**_ with reasoning, he was **_done_** with thinking. This was primal, this was heady, this was regretting for words that weren't shared before, this was the chance to fix it. What a difference a year makes to a man in grief, perhaps he was mad, perhaps this was a illusion...it _didn't_ matter here.

The Elder Holmes growled into his kiss, his newly developed muscles and energy being used for this sole purpose, pushing Sherlock up on a wet slick wall. He's so angry at him..for leaving him and he missed him so, so he tells him this through each long agonizingly sweet push and it leaves Sherlock breathless.

Sherlock's legs felt like jelly, his fingers numb from squeezing so hard...there was blood now, trailing from inbetween his legs..more and more, harder to the point of feeling like he was murdered by every jolt of his body. He scratched his resistance into over Mycroft's shoulders as deeply as he could, with his normally rich voice cracking as he screamed. He came but he couldn't feel it almost as it the orgasms were being torn from him, leaving his body shattered.

Mycroft held his brother's head and smothered in his kiss, the shots rang into him combined and timed in thrusts until Sherlock's head smacked against the wall and his head collapsed on his younger brother's chest, emptied, freed...

 

"W-welcome...home..." Mycroft heaved.

"T-th-thank you...Mycroft." Sherlock shutters into a deep slumber but he never felt more at peace.


End file.
